[1: A Friendly Face in a Dirty Place]

She slapped the monitor but the static fuzz persisted. “Does that mean we’re not recording or that we’re recording fuzz?”
    “I don’t know. They’ve never gone out on me.”
    She sighed and gave up on the monitors. It was a horrible job but it was close to her place but she wasn’t about to take on extra problems and bring people their food. Not that she made much on her side of Dirty Pete’s.
    Pete’s was in danger of being a dive, it was just a few half assed cleanings away from making the title official. It was a two pump truck stop right off the high way that shared a parking lot with a bowling alley better known for its late night bar.
Pete’s was proud of the greasy food and seedy reputation. Heather could have cashed in by fueling that reputation and make triple the she was taking in if she was willing to work on the smoking section—but she wasn’t.
    Dirty Pete’s layout was a mirror of itself with the cash register counter right in the middle where customers both entered and exited the diner. On the left was the non smoking side; the only side that ever got sun. There was a row of high backed booths and a long, a long counter that sat thirty.
    The smoking side—the side Heather swore she would never work on, was identical except the curtains were always drawn and at night they kept the lights so low you had to squint to see your food. Only women worked the smoking end—even the counter. You got a booth if you wanted to set a twenty on table to have your waitress lean in pull down the elastic neckline of her work shirt —bra and everything, for a peek-a-boo show that went all the way to the count of five-Mississippi.
    You had to follow the rules though. Even though Heather would never have to apply them—she had to know them. She still had to seat people and if they wanted smoking, she had to ask out right if they new about the special and the special rules.
    The rules were in no particular order—hands on the table—no jerking it. No touching, period. No cameras, or course; you didn’t ask to see—you put your money on the table and she picked it up or didn’t. No soliciting and if you were too drunk there was no show. And naturally, you had to order a meal.
    Drunk could be a problem. The owner—Pete, shared a parking lot with his cousin and fellow entrepreneur; Hank. Hank ran Dirty Hanks Bowling Alley and Bar. Most nights, especially when it got this late, getting close to midnight, it was more bar than bowling alley.
    Both places ran twenty four hours. It was right off the highway, an easy place for three different towns to lend their locals to the weekend crowd at the Dirties’. Adding to the patronage were truckers that could fuel up in the back lot.
    Heather eyed the crowd—only in the blurry time between late night and early morning did if ever slow down, and sighed. Non smoking was only three fourths full. Smoking was full with a waiting list.
Their uniform included a ruffled chest shirt with an elastic bust line that could easily be pulled down. She watched girls put on wicked grins, hands just below their necks leaning in on one knee and disappearing into the high backed booths for five seconds. She tried not to hate them.
    She had worked at Dirty Pete’s for a month in a half. Heather did okay for money with her tips but every week when she collected her check, Pete remarked how much more the other girls made. She’d say no thanks and he’d say he was just savoring aloud the tragedy of wasted youth.
    Heather watched from the server’s station, tucked back where non smoking customers couldn’t see them. This is where the girls all had to sneak in their smoking—there just wasn’t time for going out back with the cooks.
    She smoked and watched as Angie slid up beside her. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed along her hair line while she smiled a hello. She found her ashtray—all the girls had an ashtray they shared with one other girl. That way the could take some quick drags, stomp her smoke out and come back for the rest when time permitted.
    Angie lived down the road at the Oakridge Trailer Court, the same as Heather. She worked the smoking end of Dirty Pete’s and was a living reminder of the consequences of saying no to temptation. Ever night, Angie would spend a special two minutes, collected five Mississippi at a time, doing something Heather wouldn’t. Angie drove a better car, had a better living room set and only worked four days a week.
    “Heather!”
    She jumped with the sort of startlement that comes from slipping into one’s thoughts without realizing it. It was Terri, their teeny-bopper hostess with crystal earrings the size of her pinky dangling. “You have a table.”
    “You shouldn’t have so much cleavage showing,” she whispered to her as she grabbed a pitcher of ice water and patter her side pocket for her pen and pad.
    Terri just smiled. “Set’s the mood.”
    “Adorable,” Heather said with a wink, knowing as soon as Terri turned eighteen she’d be bringing $2.99 egg plate specials to the smokers.
    

Truth be told, he never wanted to be a father and never really expected to be. It seemed an easy enough situation to dodge, after all. But, situations were to be handled and dealt with, not dodged or worried over.
    He didn’t know anything about kids. He glanced to the passenger seat where his six year old son Teddy sat in silence, one hand resting on the seatbelt strap stretched across his chest. He was a quiet kid, which was nice sometimes but didn’t really help ease along the learning process.
    It wasn’t the silence he had to look out for. It was that look in the little guy’s eyes. “Hey?” he said, glancing from the freeway to his son. “Hey?”
    His son answered him with a look. A bad look. “Fuck,” he said, rolling his window down and lighting up. “Yer getting that gleam in your eye, kid. Do you feel funny yet?” he asked, suddenly mad at himself for losing track of their position on highway. There was always a town coming up but how soon was suddenly a crucial variable. “Hey!” He said, getting some eye contact. “How you feeling? Funny?”
    “Yes,” he said quietly.
    “Funny?”
    “Yeah. Funny, Jim.”
    “Shit, shit, shit. You’re supposed to tell me. Remember?”
    “I’m sorry,” he looked down shamefully, closed his eyes and said even quieter, “It’s going to be big, Jim.”
    He went cold. “Big?”
    Teddy nodded fiercely and a tear rolled down his cheek.
    “That’s okay.” Jim said, putting both hands on the wheel for a second. He threw his smoke out the window, too sick to even smoke. He patted his coat where his gun was holstered against his chest. “Big is okay. We’ll handle it.”
    His son kept his eyes closed and said nothing. Jim sped up.

Heather smiled at the man as she filled his glass with ice water and again for who she assumed was his son. The young boy sat on the inside the booth, next to his father. She squinted at him—he seemed feverish.
    “He okay?” she asked. “Anything I can get for him?”
    “The water will help. We’re on the road and he’s not really taking to it.” The man had long hair slicked back, a quick, smooth top and a jumble of curls that gathered at nape of his neck on the bottom. He wore a leather coat, shades tucked in the breast pocket. All he needed was a motor cycle and he’d be the perfect cliché bad boy.
    “Do you know what you want?”
    “Yeah. You to sit for a minute.”
    She raised an eyebrow at him. Normally this is when she’d refer him to Hank’s joint, where he’d get the details on landing some time with one of the parking lot girls and she’d get a little pay bump for the send along. The kid threw that assumption off, and he didn’t have that sleazy glint in his eye she usually saw before politely telling someone to shove off.
    He smiled at her as if he had read her mind. “Hey nothing funny. He doesn’t have a mom, see? You don’t have to say anything, but he likes it when a pretty girl is around. Seems to make him feel better about things.”
    She bit her lip while her mind told her to ignore the flattery and focus on situation. The guy seemed a little greasy, but sincere. It was a slow night, too.
    “I know. I look rough. Tell ya what though, this will be for taking a chance,” he said, laying a hundred dollar bill down in the middle of the table. “My name is Jim. This little guy here is Teddy.”
    Her eyes popped and she sat down without a word, scooping up the bill and holding it up into the light where the feint shadow of the authenticator-strip could be seen. She pocketed the bill and looked at the kid. He seemed a bit paler. “You sure he’s okay?”
    “He get’s like this. Too many hours in the car. He’s not used to all the scenery moving by like it does.” He sounded like he smoked; his rough voice rumbled low.
    “Where are you headed?”
    “Me and Teddy are on a road trip to no where in particular.”
    “Really? Well, it must be important if you two are out this late.” She said, savoring the idea of just driving around and eating in restaurants. “Have you made it very far?”
    “Oh yeah. We cover a lot of miles.” He looked down at his son and asked, “Isn’t that right, Teddy-boy?”
    “Lots of miles,” the boy said quietly. He seemed to be starting to perspire a bit.
    Jim nodded as if hadn’t been sure the boy had been listening.
    “Which way are you going?”
    “All of them,” Jim said with a coy smile.
    “Can I get him some Slice or something?”
    “Slice?”
    “The drink. My mom used to make me drink Slice all day long when I was sick.”
    Jim seemed startled by that. “Did it help?”
    “Seemed to. Hey, he’s starting to shake.”
    “Really, he’s fine. This is just how he get’s for a little bit. He’ll be better before you’d like.”
    “Better,” Teddy whispered.
    “How do you decide where you’ll drive?”
    Jim pointed a thumb at his son. “I ask him which way feels lucky.”
    Teddy made her jump then; he slammed both hands down on the table, hands flat with the finger splayed wide like he was trying to somehow grip the flat surface for purchase. He hissed in a breath. He was dripping sweat now and shaking.
    Jim stood up smoothly. “Could you check his forehead for me? I check so much I doubt my judgment all to hell some days.”
    “Oh, uh, sure.” She said, scooting out of her side of the booth. After so many offers to get him something she felt obligated to press the back of her hand against the young boy’s forehead. “Oh weird, he’s freezing
Jim put his arms around Heather then and pushed her down into the booth. Her head landed in Teddy’s lap and she started to scream but Jim’s calloused hand was over her mouth before she could even start.
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m actually sort of saving your life.”
    She wanted to scream, bite his hand, start kicking but Teddy made a sound like a whimper, an unholy murmur the sucked all the sound out of the restaurant. The silence lasted a quick heartbeat and ended with the ground dropping out from all of them.
    Waitresses fell, trays flipped over and patrons sitting on stools flailed helplessly as they were thrown to the ground. Booths swayed as if the were made from cloth and a gust had picked up. She watched the ripple but felt none of the effects.
    Above her, Teddy was tensed, hands gripping the table and his mouth kept opening wide like he were slowly screaming words, but she didn’t hear even a hint of his voice surrounding roar. His eyes were an unexplainable blur as they darted around the room, making them seem like blurred lines rather than round pupils.
    An explosion roared out of the common window the cooks put plates of food for the servers to take away. Screams from the kitchen followed and the sound of ceramic dishes raining down onto the floor hadn’t stopped since the first shake. Time seemed strangely stretched, and thick, her thoughts refused to come to her and she was forced to observe the world gone strange.
    She was yanked to her feet, feeling the thick numbness and shock—like she had suffered an invisible slap. Jim had Teddy, who was limp now, lying draped over Jim’s side with his head resting on his shoulder. Jim held onto her wrist and pulled her after him. It was strange, the way they walked through the chaos, glass flying in all directions while they moved undisturbed and in slow motion. Everyone and everything else reeled.
    Jim stopped at the pay counter—the cash register had broken open, she stood numbly while he quickly scooped up the bills before retaking her wrist. Her hand moved at the last second, numbly entwining her fingers with his, and not thinking it odd that it seemed more comfortable this way.
    He pulled her along to his car, a two door vehicle that was shaped like a mustang, but seemed thicker built and not quite smooth enough. He pushed her into the back seat and then unceremoniously dumped Teddy into the passenger side.
    As they sped out of the parking lot, she began to realize her situation was not normal and she was definitely being too calm about things.
    “Teddy,” Jim said sharply. “Hey, Teddy!”
    “Hey,” she yelled. “Hey what are you doing?”
    “Teddy she’s coming out of it guy, c’mon!”
    “Coming out of what?” She yelled, suddenly feeling frantic. “Stop the car!” She started to lean forward between the driver and passenger seats, determined to pummel Jim until he listened. She stopped though, surprised to see Teddy’s face spring around to face her. His eyes—
    “You have gray eyes.” She said as the boy’s gaze locked with hers.
    “Sleep.” Teddy hissed so strangely she almost didn’t comprehend the word before she fell asleep.